Prolonged Exposure

Chapter 44

“PCS, three oh three is ten-fifteen.”

I laughed with delight. “God, he must have paid Mitchell to get to say that,” I said. “He’s got Browers in custody.”

It took us a half hour to cover the same ground that the two fleeing utility trucks had covered in five or six minutes. Martin Holman and Tony Abeyta balanced on the running boards, clinging to the door and mirror frames. By the time we reached the break in the fence, Capt. Tomas Naranjo’s tan Toyota Land Cruiser was parked beside the two white trucks, with a tan Suburban just arriving.

“You want to go in?” Torrez asked, hesitating.

“Hell yes,” I said. “I’m not going to walk.”

Tomas Naranjo leaned against the fender of his Toyota and grinned as we approached.

“I remember seeing that break in the fence last week,” he said as we approached. “You know, those range cattle sometimes can be a real nuisance.” He shook hands with Holman and then me, and his grip was firm and friendly. “Senora,” he said to Estelle, and touched the brim of his cap.

“We appreciate your cooperation, Captain,” I said, and turned my attention to the others. “Are you guys all right?” Pasquale clearly was. I could count every one of his teeth, his grin was so wide. Mitchell looked as if he was glad to be standing on solid ground. Andy Browers sat on the running board of the truck he’d taken, his hands cuffed behind his back and his ankles locked together with a heavy nylon zip tie.

He didn’t look up, just stared instead at the Mexican sand under his feet.

“Where are Tiffany and Cody Cole?” Estelle snapped.

“I have no idea.”

I bent down and grabbed his shoulder. “You’re cute, you son of a bitch. Now where did you leave ’em last night?”

He looked up at me, his face impassive.

“Perhaps you could leave him with us,” Naranjo said mildly. “We have several experienced interrogators on our staff.”

“They were at the camper,” Browers said, and spat into the sand. “They couldn’t keep up, so I told ’em to go back.” He looked up at me again. He licked his lips. “They were just in the way.”

“Who’s idea was this whole thing?” I asked.

“Cole. Paul Cole.” Browers looked off into space. “He had this whole big deal cooked up.”

“I’m sure,” I said. “And conveniently, he’s dead.” I saw a muscle twitch in Browers’s cheek. “Yes. We found the body, thanks to the little boy who you figured would never show up again-alive, anyway.”

Browers looked up suddenly. “He run off,” he said. “If he’d done what I told him, everything would have turned out all right.” He turned to Naranjo. “I got twenty thousand dollars in there.”

Naranjo tipped his head and regarded Browers with interest. “Twenty thousand? American dollars?”

“That’s right.”

Naranjo flashed teeth. “That’s enough to fix one of these trucks,” he said. “I don’t know about the other.” He reached out and patted a torn and battered fender.

I straightened up and turned to Estelle. “Let’s get this creep back to town.”

It took the rest of the morning to clean up the mess. Despite the shattered fence and 640 yards of clear southbound tire tracks, Capt. Tomas Naranjo, still amused, remained adamant that no one had trespassed on Mexican soil.

Torrez, Estelle, and I elected to ride back to the church in the Kodiak. Considering the circumstances, returning one of the three vehicles wasn’t too bad. The others piled into the federales’ Toyota and the accompanying Suburban, to be chauffeured back to the formal border crossing at Regal.

Eddie Mitchell volunteered to stay behind and wait for the Posadas County wreckers to arrive and pull Matt Tierney’s trucks back. I think he looked forward to the stationary peace and quiet.

We rumbled into Regal about ten minutes after the others, and Camille waved a greeting and broke away from the crowd.

“Just another normal Posadas morning,” she said as I stepped down out of the truck. “And they’ve got Tiffany Cole and the boy. They’re both all right.”

Estelle let out a deep sigh.

“Where were they?” I asked.

“Sitting on the step of the RV, at the spring, where you thought they might be.” She turned and gestured toward one of the patrol cars. “They were trying to raise you on the radio.”

“I had it turned off,” I said.

“So I gathered. Apparently, Tiffany decided just to sit and wait it out until someone came and got her.”

“But the child’s all right?”

Camille grimaced. “As good as he’s going to be, I guess. Physically, anyway.” She reached out and touched my arm. “I talked to Gayle on the cell phone. Tiffany Cole told one of the deputies that they would have made it across the border if they hadn’t been slowed down by having to drag the kid along.”

“Wonderful people,” I said.

Holman approached. “You heard?”

I nodded. “Did someone call the wreckers?”

“On the way,” Holman said. “Good work, folks. We’ll wrap this up and then head on back to Posadas to face the music.”

I smiled at his worried expression. “I’m sure Posadas Electric has insurance. Or we do.”

“I don’t mean about the wrecked trucks,” Holman said. “I just talked with the office. Stanley Willit’s been sitting in my office for the past two hours.”

“Well, that’s a nice way to spend the rest of your day,” I said.

“He’s going to want some answers. Do you want to talk with him?” Holman asked.

I looked at him sideways. “I leave it entirely in your capable hands, Sheriff. You don’t need me to figure out who hit whom with a shovel. Your investigators will have that sorted out by nightfall.”

Camille heard that and understood my intentions perfectly. She hooked her arm through mine. “Do you think I can get you to come home now, Dad?”

“Yes, you can,” I said.